de to sweat the forty millions given by this deed? Furthermore, his
majesty has asked my opinion, I have given it; if his majesty ask my
concurrence, it will be the same."

"Nonsense! accept, my son, accept," said Anne of Austria. "You are above
reports and interpretations."

"Refuse, sire," said Fouquet. "As long as a king lives, he has no other
measure but his conscience,--no other judge than his own desires; but
when dead, he has posterity, which applauds or accuses."

"Thank you, mother," replied Louis, bowing respectfully to the queen.
"Thank you Monsieur, Fouquet," said he, dismissing the superintendent
civilly.

"Do you accept?" asked Anne of Austria, once more.

"I shall consider of it," replied he, looking at Fouquet.

Chapter XLVIII. Agony.

The day that the deed of gift had been sent to the king, the cardinal
caused himself to be transported to Vincennes. The king and the court
followed him thither. The last flashes of this torch still cast splendor
enough around to absorb all other lights in its rays. Besides, as it
has been seen, the faithful satellite of his minister, young Louis
XIV., marched to the last minute in accordance with his gravitation. The
disease, as Guenaud had predicted, had become worse; it was no longer an
attack of gout, it was an attack of death; then there was another thing
which made that agony more agonizing still,--and that was the agitation
brought into his mind by the donation he had sent to the king, and
which, according to Colbert, the king ought to send back unaccepted
to the cardinal. The cardinal had, as we have said, great faith in the
predictions of his secretary; but the sum was a large one, and whatever
might be the genius of Colbert, from time to time the cardinal thought
to himself that the Theatin also might possibly have been mistaken, and
there was at least as much chance of his not being damned, as there was
of Louis XIV. sending back his millions.

Besides, the longer the donation was in coming back, the more Mazarin
thought that forty millions were worth a little risk, particularly of
so hypothetic a thing as the soul. Mazarin, in his character of cardinal
and prime minister, was almost an atheist, and quite a materialist.
Every time that the door opened, he turned sharply round towards that
door, expecting to see the return of his unfortunate donation; then,
deceived in his hope, he fell back again with a sigh, and found his
pains so much the greater